The Speed of Pain
by Katie Havok
Summary: She squares her implements before her and closes her eyes, breathing deep to center herself and calm her racing thoughts. When the shaking has left her hand and she feels in control, Tina sets ink to paper, trying her hardest not to think about a future that may no longer be available to her.
1. Chapter 1

Tina's new orders arrive with the interoffice mail at noon.

She's slumped over her cramped desk, unenthusiastically noshing a corned beef sandwich with spicy mustard, and gives her post a cursory glance before swallowing hard. The lump of food gets lodged in her suddenly too-dry throat, forcing her to hastily gulp water while slowly, _slowly_ flipping back through the stack, heart pounding nervously, to find the thick envelope with its distinctive border and black, no-nonsense lettering.

The elaborate wax seal seems to taunts her.

She holds it between numb fingers, afraid of breaching the sanctity of the parchment but equally afraid of ignoring it, breathing deeply until her heart rate calms. Her hands tremble when she slides in her letter opener, and she holds her breath as she reads the missive.

Helpless tears blur her vision when a name she _knows_ , and the weight of its implications, leaps out at her, only to blink them away before committing the salient points to memory.

The previous task of the day forgotten, Tina strides through the shadowed halls of MACUSA to Director Graves' office, where he admits her to discuss the mission while destroying the letter. She meets someone else there, someone wearing a face she _recognizes_ (cherishes) with an unpleasant jolt, until her boss reassures her that they are not the same person. Only then do they lay plans and discuss details, Tina agreeing to their inquiries without thought or regard for her safety, determined to fulfill her mission.

A Vow is made at her request, and the three lock themselves into collusion as Tina ignores both the sudden pain in her head and the taste of inevitable betrayal coating her tongue.

Afterward, Director Graves takes one look at her strained, too-pale face before giving her the rest of the day off. She mumbles her thanks and takes her leave, and it isn't until she makes her preferred Disapparition alley that she allows the tears to fall.

* * *

Queenie greets her at the door with a mug of hot cocoa and a weak smile.

Her sister is appropriately empathetic over a supper that tastes like ashes and doesn't press when Tina speaks in monosyllables due to the sheer _effort_ of keeping her Occlumency shields intact.

Toward the end of the evening, after dishes are washed and clothes set up for the morrow, following a shared glass of wine and weak attempts at conversation, Queenie brings Tina her stationery and places it pointedly before her.

"You have the time, Teenie," she says, voice soft but steely with determination. Her blue eyes implore her with their goodness, and Tina scrubs tiredly at her eyes while trying to come up with a rebuttal. She can't think of one, and honestly...it _is_ a good idea.

She has no intention of going off to war, and quite possibly her death, without seeing _his_ face one last time.

"That's right," Queenie sighs, blinking back tears. "I know I said I wouldn't pry or meddle and I _haven't,_ but I think I need to make an exception here. It would kill him if you left without saying goodbye and never came back. He's sweet on you, Teenie. You know he is, and I know you're just as sweet on him." She pauses to nibble her lacquered lip before plunging on. "You won't know unless you ask, and I know you'll both be hurtin' if you _don't_."

"You're right," Tina nods and shakily pushes her hair back. "You're right," she repeats, a little stronger this time. Queenie allows a small, sad smile before exiting the room.

Tina watches after her until the door clicks closed and the silence has spun out intolerably. Then she opens her stationary and withdraws a perfumed sheet along with her pen and a pot of sensible blue ink.

She squares her implements before her and closes her eyes, breathing deep to center herself and calm her racing thoughts. When the shaking has left her hand and she feels in control, Tina sets ink to paper, trying her hardest not to think about a future that may no longer be available to her.

 _Dear Newt,_

 _I hope this letter finds you well. I know it's only been a few days since my last writing, but I've received word of something that potentially affects you, and it is my hope that you will hear me out before making a decision..._

* * *

Three days later sees Tina bundled into the MACUSA International Floo Hub, a compact suitcase in her hand as she awaits her turn at the hearth.

Her departure from Queenie had been easier than expected—Tina's confident she'll be back, and her sister does her best to keep them both lifted by her surety. Only the tears in their eyes, the tremble in their hands when they hugged, the embrace _tight tight tight,_ betrayed their carefully hidden doubts.

Yet the Goldstein sisters are strong, and their love is strong, and neither is willing to let war come between them. So they part as if Tina is simply stepping out to market instead of traveling across the ocean for a love that is not guaranteed, before shipping off to a battle they have no stake in.

It is easier to pretend that this is temporary. Safer, too.

The wizard manning the terminal turns to the crowd. "Goldstein!" he barks, and she hurries forward to receive her instruction. He speaks in a bored tone and doesn't look at her when he passes the crock of powder her way. "Toss this in, and make sure you speak _very clearly_ ; otherwise you're going to get lost. You can step into the grate now, wait until my signal to announce your destination and enter the network. Is that clear?"

Tina nods, mouth dry as flannel. She steps into the cast-iron grate with a wince, and the transportation specialist checks his watch before nodding once, sharply. "Okay, Goldstein, it's your turn."

She clears her throat and infuses as much brash New York Auror into her voice she can muster. She's proud when it only cracks twice. "Ministry of Magic, London, United Kingdom," Tina manages while opening her hand, and the fire flares green just before reality jerks away.

Tina closes her eyes and holds her breath at the height of the maelstrom, feeling pulled in every direction for an indeterminate amount of time until, with a dry cough and a thud, she's ejected unceremoniously six time zones and 3,400 miles away from home.

She stumbles out of the MACUSA-landings grate, sneezing wretchedly and covered in soot, straight into a pair of masculine arms. They wrap around her waist to steady her against the transient dizziness, and it isn't until she can blink the grit out of her eyes that she realizes she _knows_ those arms. The blue coat they're cased in is welcome and familiar, as are the green-gold eyes that blink into her own.

"Hello, Tina," Newt Scamander mumbles with a nervous smile, and Tina sags against him in profound relief.

* * *

"I'm sorry," she says later, after they've quit the dark, somehow claustrophobic Ministry for the dark, narrow streets of London.

Newt looks at her questioningly from the corner of his eye, and she expertly dodges a stalled pedestrian before going on. "I mean, I'm sorry for showing up with so little warning. I just...I felt like I had to be _here_ right now. Does that make sense?"

"Yes," he answers absently, before gently squeezing her elbow and inclining his head toward an alley. She follows, skin tingling with the sense-memory of his touch. Newt glances around quickly before meeting her eyes. "I'll have to take you Side-Along since you don't know the way yet," he explains in a murmur, and his eyes _darken_ as he looks at her. "Is that...are you alright with that?"

Tina nods and swallows nervously, wondering if he can hear the frantic pounding of her heart the way she can. "That's fine," she rasps.

He hesitates a moment before stepping closer, gingerly putting his arm around her. Her mind grinds to a halt at the contact, and she isn't precisely _thinking_ when she puts her arm firmly around his shoulders, pressing close enough to feel his respiration. She pretends not to notice the way he stiffens at the contact, before his eyes find hers and his lips part with a flash of tongue.

"Hang on, then," he whispers, and she squeezes him tight as they turn into the void.

* * *

Tina hadn't given much thought to Newt's living arrangements until recently, and even then she'd imagined him living out of his suitcase—shacked in the corner of a friend's house perhaps, or even still residing with a little widow of a mother.

So it's a surprise when he brings her to the sitting room of a small but surprisingly tidy cottage, very different from her own apartment in New York. His house is clean and neat, a stark contrast to the shambles that is his suitcase shack, furnished in a light but masculine style that suits him surprisingly well.

It also bears the unmistakable signs of unrepentant bachelorhood, which makes her smile slightly.

"It's nice," she decides as she turns on her heel, taking in the hammered tin ceiling and wainscoting, the surprisingly delicate wallpaper and the heavy velvet curtains. "Not what I would have expected," and she's teasing him a little when he shucks off his coat and gestures to take hers. She hands it over wordlessly, where he hangs them side-by-side before turning to a small mirror set beside the door.

He smooths his unruly hair and loosens his bow tie, hesitating only a moment before shedding his suit jacket and slinging his hands in his pockets.

"Yes, well," Newt says softly as he approaches her, "my grandmother bequeathed it to me when she was no longer for this world. Truth be told, I spend little time up here except to cook and eat, and occasionally to sleep if I know an owl could come at any moment. Most of the time I'm in my case." He looks at the object in question, propped innocently against a wall, and Tina manages a faint smile before a more prosaic concern reveals itself.

"Speaking of," she begins, "we didn't work out all the details because we didn't have time, but—where am I staying? I have money but not a lot, so if you could just direct me to the closest and _cheapest_ hotel, that would be fine." Newt's face falls in increments as she talks, and she hurries on. "I'm sorry to throw all this on you, I just..." She stumbles to a halt when his eyes search her face before falling to his boots.

"I thought you'd stay here," he says in a very low voice. Tina holds her breath against a dizzying burst of _hope_ when he goes on. "I thought...well, since you and Miss Goldstein allow me to stay at your flat whenever I'm in the city, I thought I'd at last return the favor." His hand bunches into a fist through his trousers, and she looks at it for longer than is probably appropriate. "I can see that I was mistaken. Please forgive me my assumptions, Tina."

Tina starts when her heart begins to pound, and lifts a placating hand. "It's fine!" She hastens to reassure. "I—I didn't want to impose, but Newt, really, I'm _more than happy_ to stay here. With you. It's fine." She drops her hand while stuttering to a halt, and chances a glance at his face. "I was hoping for it, actually," she finds the courage to admit, and his hands smooth out as the tense line of his shoulders relax.

"That's settled, then." Newt sends a tiny smile her way.

"Yes," Tina agrees, and gently smiles back.

* * *

It was late when she left New York, so it's late enough in England to be considered early. Still, that doesn't stop Tina from staring out his window, taking in what she can see of the dark countryside, frowning at the obscuring drizzle while listening to the domestic sounds of him working at his quaint relic of a stove.

Something brushes her elbow and she turns, only to have a surprisingly delicate teacup thrust into her hands.

"Here," he murmurs without meeting her eyes. "Something to help ward off the chill."

A chill in August is a novelty, so she hums her thanks and takes a tentative sip, closing her eyes when the flavor of lemon and licorice coat her tongue. "Just like you used to make in New York," she recalls, and he makes a noncommittal sound as he stands next to her.

He sips his own tea as they stare companionably out the window. Tina tries to keep her interest in the topography but there's very little to actually see, and her attention invariably wanders. And as is so often the case, her eyes find his reflection as her mind wanders to _him_.

He looks much the same as he did when they first met two winters ago. He's a little more tired, perhaps, the careworn lines in his face slightly more prominent. His summer tan is still deep but fading, melding with his freckles to give him a slightly more mature air. The desert sun from his last trip has brought out the blond in his hair, a striking contrast to his bronzed skin. Most striking of all is his eyes, currently a deep shade of amber in the flickering lamplight.

Newt catches her staring at him through the glass, and angles his head to meet the gaze of her reflection. Tina holds her breath, and he blinks at her while moistening his lips. The flash of tongue captures her eye, and she stares at his mouth, falling into an oft-ignored pattern of daydreams as he sets his jaw and does not look away.

She snaps herself abruptly out of it when her hand relaxes and now-tepid liquid splashes her fingers. Only her well-honed Auror reflexes prevent his fine china from tumbling to the floor.

"I'm so sorry," she gasps, horrified.

Newt shakes his head with a forced smile as he pulls out his handkerchief. He's all sinuous, feline grace when he sets aside her teacup before capturing her hand to fussily clean her knuckles. He lingers over the task until all traces of moisture are gone, before releasing her and stepping back.

"No harm done," he whispers, and Tina thinks they're no longer talking about spilled tea. He stares down at their feet for a long moment before hesitantly meeting her eyes, his expression unreadable. "Tina," he begins, and hastens to swallow when his voice cracks. "Tina," he tries again, "I know you said that you had to come but... _why_ are you here?" It's a blunt question given an unintentionally blunt delivery, and he grimaces while dropping his eyes.

Tina shyly reaches out to brush her fingers over his. He gulps but meets her halfway, and she's smiling slightly when he finally looks up. Newt relaxes as she alternates her gaze between his face and his hand, trying to find a way to articulate the blind _imperative_ that had driven her across the ocean and into his home.

The words evade her, and she's left staring until he swallows and his face closes off, expression turning distant and guarded.

His retreat is the _last_ thing she wants, so she recalls every heated glance they'd shared, every small, inadvertent touch. She brings to mind the longing way he'd looked at her when he thought she wouldn't notice, and the way she'd thought of him, late at night and in the privacy of her own bedroom. Most of all, she thinks of the aborted half-gesture he'd made when last they'd parted, there on the dock, when he'd leaned forward as if—almost like he'd intended—

"You," she blurts, and the room seems to go very still. "I'm...Newt, I came for _you_."


	2. Chapter 2

Tina stares long and hard at her reflection and does not recognize herself.

The bottom half of the mirror fogs over as she broods, a side-effect of filling the basin with the hottest water her wand could produce. She shakes herself from her reverie and rubs her temples to will away the headache gathering there, before reaching for her soap to wash her face.

She winces when she scalds herself, frowning as she brushes her teeth and applies cold cream. Tina performs her evening ablutions automatically, very determinedly keeping her mind off the magizoologist lingering on the other side of the door.

Her admission had cost her a great deal, but Newt had seemed generally unaffected. He'd blinked down at her before nodding in feigned understanding, trying on a wobbly smile. Then he'd suggested they go to bed, hastily backtracking when it sounded as though he'd implied they hit the sheets _together._

Tina decided that discretion really _was_ the better part of valor, so she agreed. He shows her to his bedroom with a mumbled explanation about the guest rooms being far too dusty for inhabitation—never mind that he's a wizard and it's the work of five seconds to freshen them—before bidding her good night and beating a hasty retreat.

And now she's burning the skin off her face in penance and willing away the headache that promises to sink its rotten teeth into her skull if she doesn't relax. Yet relaxing is impossible because she's in his bedroom, she's about to sleep in his _bed_ , and she's disappointed that he isn't here with her.

The room is large and comfortable, redolent with the scent of the sea and boasting a bed well-appointed for two. The slight dip in the mattress indicates which side he favors so that's where she goes, drawn like iron filings to a magnet.

Too late, she realizes that her suitcase is in the living room, and she has no way of knowing what state of undress he's in—or even if he's still there. She sighs in momentary annoyance before stripping down to her foundation garments and drawing back the homey but faded quilt. She considers and discards the idea of locking the door, the hidden corners of her heart wishing for him to enter at some point, before sighing and gingerly laying her head down.

The pillow smells like him, herbal hints of earth and sunshine with a tang of masculine sweat. The sheets and blankets hold a similar odor, far from unpleasant—it reminds her, in fact, of when he'd slept in her bed, last time he'd come to visit. She had delayed washing her sheets for as long as possible, unwilling to let the comforting scent go. Now, surrounded by it, she sighs and allows her shoulders to loosen before rolling toward the empty half of the bed.

Tina can imagine Newt laying there, the delicate fan of his lashes spread over his sculpted cheek, lips parted as he sleeps.

It's a lovely mental image, more so when she pictures them curled together, and it follows her down into a thin and restless slumber.

* * *

Morning brings the scent of fried eggs and freshly-brewed tea, as well as a ferocious headache. Tina fuzzily pulls on yesterday's clothing before stumbling into the kitchen.

Golden sunlight lances her eyes to burn like acid, but she's careful to hide these reactions when she sits heavily at the table, staring numbly at the grain. Newt moves around her, setting places and pouring drinks before she's finally able to look up, squinting against the bright sunshine pouring through the windows.

Newt's wearing his preferred pajamas, his wildly tangled hair the perfect nest for the bowtruckle sleeping in it, and his feet are bare. He's wearing a ridiculously frilly, floral printed apron, manning the stove with a practiced efficiency while directing a loaded plate of food to slide before her.

There are fried eggs and fried bread, fried tomatoes and fried mushrooms, and whole fried fish. The scent hits her nose like a blow and she grimly fights down the urge to recoil as her stomach shrivels and folds into itself.

Newt sheds his apron to sit across from her, eating mechanically while staring at the table and occasionally sipping tea. Tina reaches for her own steaming cup, allowing the almost citrus aroma of PG Tips to soothe her nerves, and gamely ignores her gorge. Her stomach accepts the tea willingly enough, and she even manages a few bites of her egg by the time Newt rises to do the dishes.

He offers no comment when he retrieves her mostly-full plate, merely wraps up the leftovers and places them in careful stasis before turning to her.

"Your timing is fortuitous, Tina," Newt murmurs, focusing on her left shoulder. "I'm on sabbatical at the Ministry while I prepare to update and revise my book, so I have ample time to spend with you while you are here." From atop his head, Pickett chirps a _good morning_ greeting and Newt absently pats the little creature before going on. "I don't wish to be rude, but how long were you planning to stay? I'm in no hurry to see you gone, I just wish to know how much I need to rearrange my schedule."

Irritation flashes through Tina, a result of too many worries and too-little sleep, the travel-induced stress, and her aching skull. She allows a little of it to seep into her voice. "I have two weeks," she says as evenly as she can manage. "Then I have to leave. I wish it were longer, to be honest."

Newt nods. "Back to New York with you, then?" he asks as Pickett climbs down and perches on his shoulder. Tina freezes.

"Um," she gulps, and her small breakfast churns unpleasantly in her stomach. Newt turns to glance at her before doing a comedic double-take and hurrying to her side.

"Tina—are you unwell?" He asks urgently, temporarily forgetting himself to take her hand. She stares at where he holds her as she tries to recall what she had intended to say. The pain in her head cranks up another notch, making thinking difficult, and it takes longer than she'd like to answer him.

"I'm alright," she whispers. "It's just...a headache."

Newt clucks gently as his thumb sweeps over her knuckles, effectively distracting her from the worst of the pain. "Is this like the one you had last time I visited?" he asks softly, alluding to the two days she'd walked around in a haze of pain and constant nausea. She considers her answer carefully.

"Maybe not quite that bad," she decides, and closes her eyes against the brightness of the room. "I really think I just need a good night's sleep. That's part of the reason I came here: I _need_ a vacation. Especially now."

He makes a low, thoughtful sound, and lifts his other hand so that hers is cradled between both of his, the embrace warm and comforting. "So this is merely a social visit?" he prods in a near-whisper. Tina squeezes her eyes shut and, not for the first time, wishes she could tell him everything.

"Not entirely," she admits, and his breath washes over her skin when he sighs. She opens her eyes to find him watching her face intently, mapping her features in an attempt to read them until Tina decides to tell him as much of the truth as she is able.

"I'm going to Europe," she explains in a rush. "They're sending me to the front-lines of the campaign against Grindelwald. I can't tell you much more than that, because it's classified information. But I can tell you that I will be fighting. I...I wanted to make sure I saw you. Before I left. Like I said last night: I came for _you_ , Newt."

Newt's hands tighten around hers to the point of pain before relaxing suddenly. He lowers his eyes to the floor and his jaw tenses when he swallows before lifting his gaze. His eyes are over-bright in his face, his expression open and hopeful in a way that breaks her heart. Everything he could say but hasn't is written large across his features, and she squeezes his hand encouragingly while trying on a weak smile.

"We shall have to make this trip worth your while, then," he breathes, and his eyes fall to her mouth. "We must send you to the continent with only the best memories to see you through. Don't you agree?" He moistens his lips quickly, and Tina stares, headache temporarily forgotten.

"Yes," she sighs, and tightens her hold on him. "We...we should. We will."

Newt's answering smile is as pure as she recalls, and it steadies her when he helps her from the chair, waving his wand to close the curtains throughout the main floor of the cottage before assisting her to his bedroom door.

* * *

Diagon Alley and London, in general, are both smaller and dirtier than she expected.

Newt had resisted going out but she insisted, maintaining that her head wasn't so bad as to hinder her enjoyment, and unwilling to force him to rearrange his plans on her account. He gives in after strenuous protest, and produced a pair of glasses with dark lenses before leading her through a pub dense with smoke into a crooked alley.

She barely has time to look around before he's tapping his wand on the brick, which peels back to reveal a winding street lined with leaning shops. Tina can feel the ancient magic in this place, and she allows it to distract her from the throbbing pain in her skull as she looks around in wonder.

Newt shows her the sights, but in a perfunctory manner, understanding that she's unable to fully appreciate the wizarding street in her current state. Tina nods along where appropriate, but mostly she squints against the reflected glare of sunlight off the windows and sighs in relief at every dark shop Newt pulls her into.

They take their lunch in the pub, and Tina feels well enough to attempt food.

Newt introduces her to Butterbeer, which she finds too cloyingly sweet to truly enjoy, and a local dish called Cottage pie, which seems to consist of ground meat in a potato crust. She manages to finish her small portion, and even samples a bit of blueberry cobbler for dessert, much to Newt's delight.

Then, loaded down with their parcels and feeling temporarily refreshed, he awkwardly offers his arm to Disapparate them away from the wizarding section of London.

They return to his county to visit a perfectly ordinary bakery, where Newt buys loaves of bread as well as curious little half-baked pastries he calls scones, before leading her to a butcher's shop. He greets the owner by name in affable fashion, and they fall into easy banter while Tina wonders at the variety of meats, sausages and other items on display. Newt looks at her searchingly before purchasing a small collection of smoked meats. She smiles her thanks as the man behind the counter wraps their purchases.

Then it's off to Newt's little cottage, which he says is located in a rural community called Dorset. There's a frightening moment after they Apparate when, head thumping like a water-bag, Tina hunches over her stomach for fear she may be sick. She swallows it down with difficulty, and Newt vanishes the conjured basin before helping her out of her coat and shoes and leading her into the parlor.

"You must _sit,_ " he insists firmly. Tina grumbles darkly but allows him to settle her into what is obviously his armchair, set close to the fire and well-worn by repeated visits. He flits about for a moment before vanishing into the kitchen, only to reappear leading a teapot and a tray loaded with a variety of finger foods.

"Ginger tea," he answers her inquiring look, and prepares her a cup. She accepts it without protest, inhaling the fragrance of the sharp brew before taking a sip. It remains where she puts it, and he smiles gently at her around a mouthful of cranberry scone. Pickett peaks his head out of Newt's waistcoat pocket to chirp a hello, and Tina trills in response before yawning widely enough to crack her jaw.

Newt hums and sets his food down.

"Time for bed, I think," he says with a glance out the window. The sun looks to be an hour or two from setting, but she can admit that her internal clock hasn't adjusted, and the thought of sleep sounds wonderful. She stretches, wincing at the stiff feel of her neck, before nodding.

"I think you may be right," she confesses as Newt watches her with a focused intensity that _would_ be unsettling if she weren't used to it. He sets his cup of tea aside and drops his eyes to the floor, causing Tina to tense and then wince when renewed pain flashes through her skull. He helps her to her feet.

"I'll see you off to bed," he says quietly, and she allows him to lead her to the bedroom, a small and oft-ignored part of her wishing it was for something _other_ than sleep.

* * *

Tina forgoes washing up and even changing into pajamas in favor of dropping into his bed. Newt makes a curious sound from where he stands by the door, Pickett peering at her anxiously from his waistcoat pocket. Tina blames her headache and lack of sleep for the sudden impulse that takes her.

"You can come...tuck me in, if you want," she offers, ignoring the nervous fluttering in her chest when Newt flushes bright red. He crosses the room hesitantly, standing above her with a tender expression before gently smoothing the blankets over her shoulders.

"I know how difficult traveling long-distance by Floo can be, especially when jumping over time-zones," he whispers. His fingers brush her skin almost carelessly when he pushes a strand of hair away from her cheek. Tina sighs and buries her face in the pillow, her preferred sleeping position when her head rebels against her, and closes her eyes.

Newt lingers past the point of awkwardness, and she's on the verge of asking him what's wrong when he clears his throat and murmurs, "May I try something, Tina?"

She doesn't bother opening her eyes, too busy using her remaining energy to will away the pain pulverizing her brain, and hums her consent. She isn't sure what to expect, so she gasps, a little raggedly, when slim but _strong_ fingers spread over her shoulders to knead gently, pinching and squeezing the stress away before settling into a mobile rhythm that sees her truly _relaxed_ for the first time in weeks.

Clever hands roll up the column of her neck to the base of her skull, and she makes an involuntary sound of pleasure when the tension there slowly bleeds out. Newt shifts, sliding his knee onto the mattress as he leans into her, and Tina gasps loudly when her spine crackles before her muscles go slack.

She hums her approval as Newt voices a strangely breathless huff of laughter, but his hands never falter. He reverses course, urging out knots of tension she isn't even aware of, until she's boneless and deeply relaxed. He pulls back gradually but she barely notices, floating in the twilight state between wakefulness and true sleep.

She knows when he leaves, however, because the room is suddenly too cold and too empty, and even the scent of him in her nose isn't enough to drive away her loneliness—or the reminder that she's one day closer to leaving.


	3. Chapter 3

Tina wakes after 12 hours of sleep feeling much refreshed, but with a pressing need that requires relief.

She grumbles as she treks into the light morning rain to use the privy, which has been freshly scrubbed and whitewashed—most likely on account of her visit—and is still grumbling when she washes her hands in the kitchen. Newt watches her with distinct amusement from behind his newspaper, already dressed for the day and with Pickett roosting happily on his shoulder.

"How are you feeling?" he asks as a plate of food floats over to her—simple eggs and toast, she's pleased to note. Tina chews and swallows gratefully before answering.

"Better," she settles on, reaching up to rub the back of her neck. "What you did last night...it helped. A lot. My head still hurts but it's not as bad, and I can eat again." She smiles rather awkwardly, and his eyes fall to her mouth for a moment before focusing on her ear. She doesn't let this bother her; instead, she dips her toast into the runny yolk and closing her eyes in appreciation as she chews.

When she opens them again, he's returned to his newspaper, though there's a new tension in his shoulders.

"Did you have anything in mind for today?" Newt asks idly. She thinks for a moment before shaking her head. He nods as if he expected this, mouth twitching into a small frown. "I had a few ideas," he says slowly, and his eyes flicker to her momentarily before returning to the paper. "But I'm not sure you're up for them."

Tina sets down her toast to wipe her buttery fingers on her napkin. "What were you thinking?" she asks as evenly as she can manage. He lowers the newspaper to stare at her from across the table. His eyes are disarmingly direct, and she can only meet them for a few moments before looking away. He sighs tiredly, shoulders slumping. Tina flinches at the pang of guilt that action produces.

"I just want to _talk_ to you," Newt says to the tabletop, and Tina squeezes her eyes shut in pained self-reproach. "It seems that lately, we never _talk_ —not like we used to, anyway. You're one of the few people on Earth I _can_ talk to, Tina, and I...I miss it."

 _I miss you_ hangs between them, unacknowledged and unspoken as she puts her head in her hands.

"I'm sorry," she mumbles through her fingers. She takes a fortifying breath before forcing herself to look him in the eye, putting on an air of forced casualness. "I know we usually talk so easily, and I _am_ sorry. It's just...work." It's an incredibly weak excuse, and they both know it. Newt looks skeptical, frowning when he sets down the newspaper to send their dishes to the sink.

"Work," he repeats. Tina watches his throat bob when he swallows. "Work," he echoes bitterly, savoring the words, and she watches an unfamiliar cynicism bleeds into the lines of his face.

"Well," Newt says abruptly, chair scraping across the floor. Her mouth falls open when he stands, and his gaze is direct. "When you realize that you _aren't at work_ , Tina—come and find me. Until then...I'll be in my case."

His voice cracks on the last syllable but he doesn't stammer out an apology, only ducks his head and walks away.

Tina watches him go, admiring the fine, straight line of his shoulders and back, grinding the heel of her hands into her eyes when her headache returns with a vengeance.

* * *

Tina holds out for two hours.

In that time, she unpacks her suitcase and hangs her clothes beside his in the wardrobe; enjoys a hot bath using the ancient basin in the kitchen (ruefully daring him to come up and see her, in the vain hope that it would erode _some_ of the tension between them); and argues fruitlessly with herself.

 _You came specifically to see him, maybe even to tell him that you love him. You should go and apologize, and see if you can't start over,_ she thinks, and nods as she scrubs her skin with harsh lye soap.

 _MACUSA trusted you. You know that revealing anything about the mission is almost impossible, and puts you all in danger. Especially him. And in the end, aren't you doing this_ for him, _to keep him safe?_ she argues back and dunks her head in the water until her lungs burn and black spots danced before her eyes.

Doing so doesn't help her headache, but the resulting surge of adrenaline does serve to clear her head. Temporarily, at least. Then it's back to arguing with herself, round and round until her head spins and she feels ill.

She boldly dresses in the kitchen, foregoing many of her underthings in deference to the unusual warmth of the day, and eyes the case ruefully until she can no longer deny the impulse. Her knees tremble when she crosses the room, heart fluttering and palms sweaty when she bends to open the latches.

"This is ridiculous," she growls to herself. "It's just _Newt!_ "

 _Yes, Newt,_ her subconscious helpfully supplies, and she grimaces. _He's the reason you're here, isn't he? So stop this. Go talk to him. You know he'll forgive you, and if you tell him, he can help you support this burden. You don't have to do this alone._

"But I do," she reminds herself with a moan, and opens the lid.

* * *

Newt's not in his shed, hunched over his typewriter, or in any of the immediate enclosures.

She pokes her head in on the heavily-pregnant Erumpent, who trumpets a hello, and spends a few minutes with Dougal and the newest clutch of Occamy hatchlings.

It's the Demiguise who finds him, gently taking her hand and leading her to a rough meadow she's never seen before, an endless expanse of green with a hint of mountains sketched on the artificial horizon. He's sitting in the slough grass, chin on his knees and staring moodily into the distance.

Tina whispers her thanks when Dougal disappears before approaching the Magizoologist.

"You're a difficult man to find when you want to be," she says lightly as she settles beside him. His eyes cut to her momentarily before returning to the far-off, dreaming mountains. Tina smothers a sigh while mirroring his posture, and sets her eyes on the horizon—prepared to wait him out until chore time if need be, settling in for the long-haul and grimly ignoring the renewed thumping in her temples.

"I'm glad you came," he says without preamble, sometime around the time her feet start to tingle. Tina casually stretches her legs and leans back on her hands, wiggling her toes to encourage blood flow. She doesn't look at him, but she sees his chin angle toward her in her extreme periphery. Inwardly heartened, she keeps her expression serene before tilting her head toward the sky, closing her eyes as a soft breeze caresses her skin.

"Could have fooled me," she finally rejoins, and knows she's scored a hit when she feels him tense beside her. The realization brings no triumph though, and she turns to find him frowning deeply, careworn lines bracketing his mouth and eyes. _Those are because of me,_ she thinks, and feels her own face cramp into a momentary wince.

He blinks at her expression but makes no motion to soothe her as Tina steels her resolve.

"I'm sorry," she sighs. "It seems like all I can do lately is snipe at the people I...care about. I was a nightmare before I left New York, you should have seen it. Poor Queenie didn't know _what_ to do with me."

Thinking about her sister hurts, but not as much as the sustained ache she's carrying for the man in front of her. Yet, she sets both aside when his gaze drops to where her hands curl into the grass before slowly raising his eyes to meet hers.

"If you came here to heap abuse on my head," Newt whispers, "you should have stayed home. I believe a letter would have sufficed if your only reason for visiting was to tell me you're off to war."

He takes a deep but unsteady breath. "You insist you came here for me, yet you've made no effort to _show_ me this, Tina. So, I ask again: _why are you here_? What has you so tied into knots that you are pushing away the people who...the people who _care_ the most about you?"

It's asked baldly, almost boldly, but Tina can see the proof of how difficult it is for him to ask in his shiny eyes and trembling hands. She draws perverse courage from his nervousness and meets the question head-on, no longer content with being evasive.

"I've been given a mission," she says simply, ignoring the warning tingle in her wrist. He blinks at her confusedly, fingers worrying a stalk of grass. "I've received orders and I really _am_ going to the front-lines. Apparently, you and I were the first to apprehend Grindelwald successfully. We both know he broke out of MACUSA not long after, but that's not what's important to them." She rolls her eyes eloquently. "They want me to go help train other Aurors. It's a good bet that I'll be engaging in combat while I'm there."

Newt processes her incomplete answer as he moistens his lips and curls a sprig of grass around his fingers.

"There's more," he prompts eventually, and she nods.

"Yes. But...I can't tell you most of it. That's actually part of the reason I came." She exhales slowly and meets his eyes. "I really _did_ want to see you. I have two weeks here—can't we try to make them good ones?"

"Why me?" He asks before she's barely finished answering the question, and now it's her turn to flinch. Tina tries to look away but his hand flashes out to catch her wrist, effectively stalling her evasion. Shocked, she whips her head up to meet his eyes, his gaze hard and searching. He nods at whatever he finds on her face. "There's another reason, isn't there, Tina? Something you aren't telling me that has nothing to do with your orders. So I ask again: why me? What drove you to leave your sister and cross the ocean? _Why are you here?_ "

"Because I couldn't leave it like that," she whispers, voice cracking. Ashamed, she makes to duck her head again, only for calloused fingers to gently, _gently_ tip her chin up to face him.

Newt's eyes are radiantly blue, almost preternaturally bright in his freckled face. He shows a wobbly smile.

"Keep talking," he breathes, and now it's her turn to swallow. She moves her gaze to his ear, a technique she's seen him use countless times, and he drops his hand away from her skin as if burned. She pretends not to notice the slump that takes his shoulders.

"I couldn't leave _you_ like that," she warbles, and she notices distantly that her headache has relented, allowing her to think past the pain-induced fog. "I wanted to see you because I wanted it to be _you_ I brought with me. Not Queenie." Her eyes sting and she blinks the threat of tears away until she feels more in control. "I love my sister, but Newt...she's not _you._ "

Newt sighs and shifts onto his haunches. "So you came because you only wanted to see me before you left? That's all this is?" He sounds weary and terribly disappointed. Tina jerks her head up in shock.

" _No!_ Well, I mean, _yes,_ but no! I wanted it to be you, don't you see that? I'm going off to war, and I know you know what that means because you've _done_ it, and all I can think is—" She cuts herself off with a choked sound when Newt's hands go to her upper arms, squeezing insistently.

"Say it," he urges desperately, and when did he move so close? Tina stares at his damp eyes before tracing the curve of his cheek when he nods down at her. "Please say it," he breathes, but the words are clogging her throat and he's _too close_ , the weight of what she's agreed to do is _too heavy_ , and her lungs are too small and refuse to admit any air.

She wheezes hopelessly, and his face falls in increments until he moves away, rising to his feet to stare down at her crumpled form.

"You could have said it at any time, you know," Newt husks out, and makes no effort to wipe away his tears. "I came back to you time and time again, and I was happy to do it because you are _you_ , and you are precious to me. But I have no frame of reference for this, and I don't know how to handle it because I don't know if you're rejecting something that I've only ever dreamed of, or if you're refusing to say it because you're afraid. Tina, have I ever given you a reason to fear me?"

She miserably shakes her head, and he swallows thickly before going on. "I speak best in action, as you know, and I believe my actions have said it clearly. And I know you've recognized it, because you've never not welcomed me, and your welcome went beyond mere friendship. But..." His breath hitches, and he lifts a hand to absently flick his tears away. She stares with avid fascination. "Tina, you could have simply told me you loved me, and saved us both so much pain."

The words fall between them like heavy stones. She drops her eyes to the ground, feeling simultaneously crushed and exulted that, at last, one of them has found the resolve to acknowledge it. She watches him shift his weight from one foot to the other as she processed his words, until he makes a harsh sound and pivots smartly on his heel.

There's a rushing sound in her ears when he walks away, a rigid line of brown and yellow against the backdrop of grass and sky, until the canvas snaps shut behind him and she is once more alone.

Only then does she allow the tears to fall.


	4. Chapter 4

Tina eventually drags herself out of the case to discover that the sun has sunk low in the sky, and Newt is nowhere to be found.

She tries not to think about him, still feeling hollowed out and _bitter_ with his words, and instead hides in the bedroom that is temporarily hers. She ruefully changes into the nightgown Queenie had sent along with her, short and silky and something she no longer believes she'll have occasion to use, before casting a cooling charm on the room and slipping beneath the covers.

Her fear and exhaustion, as well as the renewed pain in her head, causing her to descend quickly into sleep. It isn't a restful or restoring slumber; nightmares rise almost immediately to chase her rest until, unexpectedly, warm dream-arms embrace her, a beloved voice speaking low in her ear.

 _"I've got you, Tina. I'm sorry,"_ Newt says, over and over, and she smiles and murmurs her forgiveness until he falls quiet and she sinks into a welcomed, dreamless sleep.

* * *

Tina wakes to hard darkness and looks around until the unfamiliar weight slung over her side tightens around her.

She freezes, thoughts grinding to a halt as she slowly looks down to find a freckled and _familiar_ forearm pressed into the notch of her waist. _Now_ she's aware of the slight mass behind her, the soft puff of even breathing on her neck, and the firm chest pressed into her back.

Breath returning in stilted bursts, she turns her head creakily to find someone sleeping next to her, body relaxed in slumber.

 _Oh,_ she thinks, and blinks. The room is dark enough for even her sleep-adjusted eyes to have trouble discerning the shape of him, and she hesitates before focusing on the candle perched upon the bedside table, which flares into muted life to cast his features in flickering shadows.

It's Newt in bed with her, sprawled beneath the blankets and wearing his typical clothing, though his braces are lowered and his shirt is mostly unbuttoned. She traces the familiar contours of his face, so rare and unguarded in sleep, before allowing her eyes to slide down the strong column of his neck and lower, to where his shirt opens in a deep v-shape that stops just above his navel.

She can see a heavy smattering of freckles dotting his chest, as well as thin, sparse strands of coppery hair. Thready white scars, too, countless numbers of them, and she swallows against the sudden and unexpected tendril of _heat_ that courses through her to pool in her lower belly.

Tina cranes her head to watch his chest rise and fall while tracing the contour of his arm, feeling the other one still tucked beneath her. She recalls her dream then, and the way his voice had sounded in her ear. _Maybe not a dream, after all,_ she thinks, and isn't sure how that makes her feel. It's too confusing, untangling dreams from reality while trying to decipher what his being here _means,_ so she lets it go for now.

He inhales sharply without warning, eyebrows rising as his breathing changes and he swims toward consciousness. Tina gnaws her lip in momentary indecision before deciding to do _nothing_ —he chose to join her in bed, and she can only hope that it signals an understanding of her reason for being here, if not an acceptance.

Newt makes a low, sleepy sound before his eyes blink open to land unerringly on her. She produces a weak smile when they widen before closing in apparent pain.

"Tina," he mumbles, and the sleep-burred rasp of his voice makes her shiver as the heat in her lower stomach shimmers. He swallows loudly and opens his eyes to fix on her face, his mouth curving into a sad bow. "I'm sorry, I didn't intend to trespass upon you. You were dreaming and it sounded unpleasant. You were calling out for your sister, so I came to check on you and..." He lifts his hand to make a helpless gesture and she immediately misses its warmth—so she tugs it back into place, his explanation stumbling to a halt.

"It's okay," she whispers. He stares at her face to the point of discomfort before averting his eyes, and Tina shifts when her neck twinges before taking a fortifying breath and rolling onto her back.

It's a carefully calculated move: her sleeping gown is sheer and pale in color, and the blanket pools around her waist when she moves, allowing the dusky pink of her nipple to show through the thin fabric. His arm resettles on her stomach but his eyes never fall below her neck, and she can't be sure if it's disappointment or excitement that causes her to squeeze her thighs together.

"Did I wake you up? You know...before?" She asks. He dampens his lips while shaking his head.

"No," Newt responds in a low voice. "I actually came to the door because I wanted to...well, I suppose I wanted to apologize. I was unnecessarily harsh, and you didn't deserve that. When I heard you calling for your sister, and when I couldn't rouse you I had to make the choice to either walk away or try to help." He meets her eyes unflinchingly, blown pupils surrounded by thin bands of precious green. "And I'm finished with walking away, Tina."

Tears blur her vision, and she blinks them away while willing her face not to crumple. _Strong,_ she reminds herself. _You're getting there; you're finally talking. Don't blow it now._ A calloused hand brushes her cheek, cupping it gently as his thumb sweeps beneath her eyes. It's the boldest and most _forward_ Newt's been in months, and her tears flow anew at the realization that the tension between them has been spooling out for years now, primed for one or the other to break it. He makes a shushing sound, wiping her other eye as she presses into the contact with a sniffle.

"Me, too," Tina warbles and manages a watery smile.

"How's your head?" Newt asks, his fingers sliding from her cheek to cradle the back of her skull. She sighs raggedly at the contact, pressing into it.

"It's better," she says, and he nods while falling silent. His steady fingers card gently through her hair, and Tina closes her eyes, allowing the last of her headache to drain away.

The overwrought tension thrums between them until she opens her eyes to take in his face, finding his gaze fixed unflinchingly upon her mouth. He meets her eyes for a moment before returning to his frank appraisal of her lips. Some old and eroded defense mechanism within Tina _crumbles,_ causing her nipples to tingle, her entire chest tightening in anticipation as her mind whispers _now._

"Do you want to kiss me?" she asks in the barest whisper and is heartened when Newt doesn't flinch. Neither does he look away or dissemble or attempt to justify his staring. Instead, his eyes move to hers and held her gaze, long enough for her to memorize the flicker of the candlelight in his iris; long enough to watch his pupils dilate even more and his cheeks flush in obvious approval.

He props himself on his elbow and leans closer until he's hovering inches from her mouth and his hand, _his hand_ shifts to splay possessively over her stomach.

"Yes," he breathes, and she feels it more than hears it, but she still has to bite back a small, greedy sound. She recognizes this tactic for what it is, giving her what she's asking for without acknowledging the unspoken question. Always willing to wait for her lead, she realizes, and her lips tingle in anticipation as she lifts her hand to cup the nape of his neck.

Newt exhales sharply at the contact, and she can feel the tremor that works through him.

"What are you waiting for, then?" Tina challenges when he makes no move toward her and closes her eyes in surrender.

There is a long, tense moment when nothing happens. She can feel him breathing, and the uncertainty tightening his frame. She can feel how tense his neck and shoulders are in their locked position, until she works her fingers up into his hair, marveling at the strands of coarse silk when she rakes her fingernails over his scalp before petting the nape of his neck.

His hands knot in her hair to tug gently, tilting her chin toward him. She utters a small, hungry sound when the subtlety possessive gesture causes her stomach to clench and flutter moltenly—only for it to be stolen when a warm, masculine mouth covers her own.

Newt doesn't kiss her so much as _claim_ her, leading the slide of their lips. He presses the advantage to flick his tongue out to trace her teeth, where she grants him entrance. He lingers there, sampling her velvety tongue and cheek until she gasps raggedly before pulling back and rolling to cover her.

Tina winds her arms around his shoulders as he hovers on elbows and knees, hanging over her until she tugs him down so her breasts press into his chest, her nipples tingling madly at the hint of friction. She arches her back in a bid to increase contact between them, his mouth finding her neck and jaw before clever teeth latch onto her earlobe. The sensation jolts through her when he soothes the sting with his tongue, and she moans while slipping her hands from his shoulders to press into his chest and stomach.

His shirt impedes her touch so she scrabbles at the remaining buttons, shakily releasing them from their eye as he drags his teeth down her throat to her collarbone, which he sucks and tongues until she's choking with _need._ The garment eventually surrenders, revealing the full expanse of his storied skin. Tina palms it greedily as he nips the silky basque of her nightgown.

Tina urgently taps his hip until he shifts, freeing her trapped legs so she can hook them around his shanks. He makes another hungry sound when she pulls him close, lining their pelvis' up until she can feel it: the primal and vital part of him, now awake and pulsing with _want_ against her eager center. She twitches her hips upwards, grinding them together until he growls into her skin, hands moving to the hem of her nightgown. He pushes it past her waist so he can drag his calloused fingers unimpeded over the topography of her curves.

She moans when he squeezes her bottom before wrapping her leg around his waist. She moves against him rhythmically, the rough weave of his trousers stimulating her beyond all expectation until he drops his head to ring her nipple with his teeth. Tina chokes out his name, squeezing his shoulder when he makes an approving sound before moving to the other side. His tongue drags roughly over the smooth silk and she mewls, mindless with need.

Her hands fall to his waist to find and open the placket of his trousers, fingers trembling badly. He tilts his pelvis to assist, his larger hand gently pushing hers aside to loosen his underwear before shoving the fabric past his narrow hips. Tina eagerly claims velvety steel for her own, squeezing it until he purrs roughly. She strokes him clumsily before her thumb finds the bead of fluid dotting the tip, spreading it around until he keens. His eyes find hers when he slides his hand down to where she is tender and _empty,_ touching her in tight circles to mirror her movements between his legs.

Newt finds the knot of nerves nestled between her folds, and Tina chokes when everything within her begins to smolder. He easily slides two fingers into her, causing her to gasp and rock her head back as he presses _in,_ his regular thrusts firm and deep. Her back arches but her hand on him never falters, stroking him faster as his fingers drive her higher and higher until he growls and wrenches himself away. Tina moans and tucks her chin to her chest, watching him take himself in hand, his lips skimmed back from his teeth as his eyes drift heavily over her flushed and exposed curves before finding her face.

The question is there, masked by the haze of lust and abandon but still entirely _relevant._ She somehow chokes out assent while hooking her legs around his thighs to tug him closer. The sheets whisper when he drops over her, supporting his weight on his elbow as he settles lower. Tina moans encouragingly when he fumbles between them, kissing him until he growls deeply and his hips push forward.

Then he's _inside_ her, buried to the hilt, and the frayed tension between them gives with an almost audible snap.

He establishes their rhythm quickly, hips retreating only to sink back in, firmly enough to cause her body to jolt with each thrust. The mattress complains as Tina's mouth falls open in bliss, until he takes her bottom lip between his teeth with a groan. She captures and swallows the sound, returning it with one of her own as he moans and presses his lips down her jaw and throat.

Heat builds as Tina gasps her pleasure into his skin, sighing his name as her hands slide from his sweat-slicked back to his hips, pressing them in encouragement of _harder, faster, more_ before finding the tense curve of his rear. Newt gasps in her ear when she bites his shoulder, and groans as she drags her fingernails up his spine. He presses his face into her neck when she tugs his hair, until he says her name and lifts his head to kiss her, lips slanted together as she moans into his mouth.

Newt breaks away to push her nightgown aside, curling to suck one taut nipple between his lips. He bites and laves and that's the extra push she needs—Tina's back arches off the creaky mattress as she trembles around him, announcing her release with a cry as he purrs her name in encouragement. She chokes and quivers as it seems to go on and on, until the final spasm works through her tingling limbs and Newt, eyes wild above her, slips a hand beneath the small of her back and _lifts_ to better get inside her.

She pants for breath as he ratchets up their intensity, his hips lashing hers as their lips touch, sometimes kissing and sometimes nibbling, but usually just moaning against her mouth until she can feel the fine tremors in his frame, his smooth movements devolving into shuddering runs. She breathes his name and he manages eye contact at the last, eyes widening, mouth falling open when he surges forward before going still, his sweat-slick body trembling in her arms.

"Mercy Lewis, I can _feel_ you," she chokes when pulsing heat fills her. He grinds out something that could charitably be called laughter when he shudders before sagging into her. Tina happily accepts his weight as he pillows his head on her chest to pant, occasionally spasming until their breathing returns to normal. Tina runs her hands through his chaotic hair and touches his damp face until he captures her fingers with his lips, kissing them in turn while propping himself onto one elbow to watch her.

"Are you—that is, was that—okay?" He asks softly.

Tina takes in the hectic color still infusing his cheeks, the way he's slipped partially out of her as well as the deep satisfaction weighing down her limbs. She smiles just for him, soft and slow and in stark contrast to their frantic activity of a few minutes earlier. He relaxes at her expression, kissing her tenderly before easing off of her. She moves with him until they are arranged together, face-to-face with limbs and remaining clothing in a comfortable tangle.

"It was perfect," she assures him, and Newt flushes in pleasure while touching her jaw with reverent fingers.

"Oh, good," he mumbles. Then: "I have dreamed of this moment countless times, and I can honestly say that none of them measured up to the reality of the event." He leans in for a heart-stopping kiss before smiling shyly at her. "Thank you, Tina."

Tears sting her eyes, but they are a symbol of her happiness and there's no shame in them. "I'm glad," she whispers around a shaky but radiant smile, and he smiles back while tucking her into his arms, sighing in deep contentment.

"Sleep now," he whispers, and she nods and relaxes into his embrace. "I'll be here when you wake up, and we can...talk. If you want."

"I'd like that," she mumbles while closing her eyes, and there are no more words between them that night.


	5. Chapter 5

Tina is awoken by the groaning of the mattress, and opens her eyes to Newt sitting up and stretching. He smiles down at her while shedding his wrinkled shirt, and she watches appreciatively as he stands and kicks off his trousers without embarrassment. If anything, he smirks as she slowly admires the strong, clean lines of him, before her eyes find his center, examining him unabashedly.

"That's alright," he murmurs with a soft smile. "Look all you'd like, Tina."

He spreads his arms in invitation, and the bright morning sun casts him in gold, burnishing him like a bronze idol and turning his hair into a fiery halo. She nibbles her lip in hunger while climbing to her knees, catching his eye before slowly peeling off her nightgown. It flutters to the floor but they barely notice, maintaining intense eye contact as she beckons him with a crooked finger.

Newt takes a knee on the mattress before stalking across the bed to her. Her nipples tingle and harden in the cool air of the bedroom as he captures first one, then the other with his mouth while easing her onto her back.

They're late for breakfast, but the only ones who notice are the creatures, and they certainly don't mind.

* * *

Newt shows her to the shower behind his shed after their morning round of lovemaking, an encounter punctuated by languid touches and eye contact when he urges her over the edge twice before tumbling messily after her. He keens her name at his end, before they collapse into a sweaty heap which makes her comment wryly that they smell like a pair of mating Hippogriffs.

He laughs long and loud at that before pressing a towel into her hands.

Tina washes while Newt feeds his creatures, the fires of passion temporarily banked. She scrubs herself with a flourish, glad it was suggested by her sister that she take a long-term contraceptive potion before she left New York, smiling as she washes the juncture of her thighs with extra care. She is sore in the _best_ of ways, but she murmurs a charm intended to relieve aching muscles and sighs in relief when the low ache fades. She has no intention of stopping now, not when she's finally achieved her goal.

Not when she has to leave in eleven days.

The reminder of her mission wipes the smile from her face, and she is somber when she dries herself and pulls on a light robe. She wraps her hair in a towel as she seeks out Newt, finding him checking on the bowtruckle wood before depositing fresh meat for the Nundu.

He eventually wanders to her as she coos at the Diricawl's, bending to kiss her neck in greeting and causing goosebumps to chase over her skin when he grins. She kisses his mouth sweetly before urging him toward the shower with gentle teases. He goes willingly enough, the sound of wildly off-key singing following her up the stairs of the case when she climbs it to dress.

* * *

They spend the day in easy domesticity, the argument of the previous evening forgotten in favor of wonder. They kiss and touch whenever possible: while passing over the newspaper at breakfast, with a mug of tea at lunch, and over the roast at supper. Tina changes the sheets on the bed and airs the bedroom, which is heavy with the specific and telling odor of sex and sweat, while Newt turns his wand on the cottage and scrubs it clean, a weekly task he insists on observing even with company.

After supper, he prepares a batch of Butterbeer to his family recipe. Tina finds the flavor much stronger and not nearly as sweet as what they'd shared in the pub, so she curls around him before the fire with a steaming mug.

Newt performs his evening chores while Tina prepares for bed, and he washes his face and hands before stripping down and climbing between the sheets.

They do nothing more charged than touching that night, pressed skin-to-skin beneath the blankets and murmuring until sleep takes them.

* * *

Newt takes her into London on her fifth day of leave, and since her head is no longer rebelling against her, she is able to enjoy it properly.

He shows her the Tower of London and a large clock affectionately called Big Ben by the locals. He takes her into Trafalgar Square and a few of the small, perfectly-appointed parks. They enjoy a picnic lunch in the last of them, carefully Disillusioned from Muggle eyes as they sip tea and eat little watercress sandwiches with pickles and cheese on the side.

He kisses her beneath the summer-dressed trees, the press of his lips declaring what his words cannot, and she welcomes him with a sigh as her arms go around his shoulders. Much of her wants to take him right there in the grass, to see the play of dappled sunlight over his skin and hear his moans mingling with the wind. The more sensible part decides to wait until they are home (for that's what his cottage is, temporarily at least: home), and once there she strips him slowly and traces all his freckles and scars with her tongue, until he gasps and pleads for her to help him find completion.

Which she does, to both their satisfaction.

* * *

The seventh day sees her accompanying him to the Ministry of Magic on a small errand, where they ride the life-threatening lift and she is introduced to his brother.

The meeting is unexpected and tricky: she knows who Theseus Scamander is, of course, having entered into collusion with him and Mr. Graves at MACUSA. She also knows that he is at least partially responsible for the details of the mission she's about to undertake, the one she _cannot_ tell Newt about. They both prove to be good actors, however, and Newt doesn't seem to sense the tension between them when he prattles on about his creatures before finally, _finally_ showing her to his desk.

She meets Newt's boss and it's a much more relaxed affair, though she can't quite work the tension out of her shoulders even after they've gone home. The reminder of her ultimate goal chafes, a small dark cloud blotting out the sunshine of her joy.

Newt notices, of course—he always does. He offers a neck and shoulders massage, which she accepts with only the smallest pang of guilt, and what starts as an attempt at relaxation quickly spins out into something else entirely.

She winds up in his bed, stripped naked as he kneels between her thighs with his tongue curling against her indecently, until she hisses his name and arches her back. Her orgasm nearly smothers him in its intensity, and she's barely recovered when he sheds his clothes before nudging into her, where he loves her slowly, deeply, as she holds him close.

He chokes words into her hair at his peak, and while she thinks she _knows_ what he said, she couldn't bear the thought of it if she were wrong. So she says nothing, and she doesn't repeat it back, and though she's secure in his arms, sleep is a long time in coming that night.

* * *

The eighth day sees them up to their elbows in Erumpent blood, almost literally.

Ethel announces her impending birth early that morning, and Newt is amazingly calm and steady as he eases the first-time mother through her transition and labor. Tina acts as a go-between, fetching drinks and towels and the occasional potion until he calls for her and she comes at a run.

She finds him next to a small, wrinkled and blatting creature, beaming with unmistakable paternal pride as Ethel pokes it curiously with her snout and voices a series of bellows.

"It's a male," Newt says happily. She squeezes him with one arm as he stands back and allows mother and calf to get to know each other. They eventually drift away to clean up, Tina utilizing her strongest blood-cleansing charms as Newt scrubs ichor off his skin. "How do you feel about children?" he asks without preamble, and meets her eyes levelly. "I mean, how would you feel about possibly having children someday...with me?"

"I've never given it much thought until recently," Tina admits, and hurries on when his face falls. "But...I think if it were you...I think I'd like to attempt it. I'd like that a lot, actually." She smiles and laughs at the look of relief that sweeps over his features, and ruthlessly pushes away the voice in the back of her mind that chants _liar, liar, you'll never have the opportunity. Not after what you've agreed to do._

Newt dries off before sweeping her into his arms, kissing her face and neck until laughter bubbles out of her. "I love it when you're happy," he murmurs warmly, and his gaze turns tender as he cups her cheeks. "In fact, I...I was awful to you last week, and accused you of being too cowardly to say it when I haven't even said it myself."

He takes a fortifying breath as her heart begins to slam against her ribs, her bottom lip going automatically between her teeth. "I did not ask about children idly, and I feel—I think you should know that I...I—I love you, Tina. So very much. And when this whole bloody Grindelwald business is done with, I should like to make that love legal and permanent." A shaky exhale. "If you'll have me, that is."

"Do I get a ring?" She asks weakly. He nods, looking at her soberly.

"I can give it to you now if you'd like. Or we can wait until after you've returned." He runs an unsteady hand through his hair until she captures it to press kisses into his knuckles and palm.

"Yes," she breathes into his skin, and he blinks at her until she repeats it, a little stronger. "Yes. Yes, Newt, of course. When I get back, I...we'll...yes."

She measures her breathing until her heart stops trying to punch through her chest. Then she leans forward and captures his lips in a slow but intense kiss, until the case recedes around them and nothing is important save the heat they share between them.

"And I love you too," she says when she pulls away. "Very much, and I wish I'd found the courage to say it sooner."

"Nothing to be done for that now," he says warmly, and his eyes tell her that all is forgiven.

They spend that night in the case, washing up in the facilities there before he Enlarges his camp bed and tucks her into it. They make love and, at his peak, a significant part of her rues the contraceptive potion and the task she's promised to fulfill, a primal and maternal instinct crying out for his pup to fill her belly.

A fleeting feeling, gone almost as soon as it'd come, but one that keeps her up well after he's fallen into slumber, and which chases her into a thin and restless sleep.

* * *

The tenth day brings pouring rain so they spend it indoors, rambling the old but well-maintained cottage separately and together until lunchtime, when Newt offers to bring her into his case and she eagerly accepts. She goes about the now-familiar tasks of cleaning up after, feeding and watering the creature's, casting Strengthening charms on the habitats and Air-Freshening charms on the case as a whole, and helping Newt with all manner of odd-jobs.

They fall into easy conversation and occasional banter when they retreat to his shed, curled around cups of tea as they trade stories and anecdotes from their years upon the earth.

He tells her of his time spent in the Dragon Corps during the Great War, and stories from when he was young and idolized his brother. She tells him of weekend jaunts into upstate New York while her parents were still alive, and the struggles she and Queenie faced as orphans in a world that couldn't be bothered with their suffering.

Newt eventually leads her upstairs, where he roasts a chicken for their supper before plying her with Butterbeer and ushering her to settle before the fire. They curl up together with books until the night presses hard against the windows and Tina's head buzzes pleasantly. He brings her to bed and strips her naked, and they sleep pressed close, with his head pillowed on her breast.

* * *

Newt gives her a ring on the thirteenth day.

There's toast with marmalade and eggs for breakfast, her preferred meal, and plenty of hot tea. The sun is bright and warm and the day promises to be beautiful, so she dresses with care and takes a moment to apply some powder to her nose, coating her mouth in red lipstick and donning her best hat before leaving the bedroom.

She's pleased to note that he's had a similar idea, his battered boots polished to a high shine and his typical worsted suit swapped for something slightly more modern.

He takes her into Devon, a neighboring county, and they walk along the water's edge to watch the cutters scuttle into the harbor. He introduces her to something called fish n' chips, decadent sides of fried white fish served alongside French fries, sprinkled with salt and malt vinegar. Tina eats more than her fair share but Newt doesn't seem to mind, ordering a second serving without comment.

They're peacefully watching the water when he drops to one knee. He's watching her with an expression that is equal parts fear and hope as he pulls out a velvet box with worn edges to reveal a lovely opal ring.

"Tina," he says softly. "I know we already agreed but...forgive me for being old-fashioned. I know you are a modern and capable women, yet—would you think me silly if I asked you to make it official before you left?"

She hauls him to his feet to kiss him soundly, holding out her trembling left hand for him to slide the ring onto. He misses the first time, and they laugh together as he regroups and tries again. The second time sees success, and she isn't even surprised when the ring is a perfect fit.

Then he's kissing her soundly, kissing the breath from her lungs, and neither of them has the presence of mind to check for Muggles before Disapparating to his cottage.

She guides him to the bedroom, and they spend the remainder of the day there. She runs the stone on her ring over his body, watching his skin jump and shiver into goosebumps in reaction. He drops below her waist to bury his tongue in her until she cries out his name, stomach quivering with the force of her release. They love each other in every way imaginable until they collapse, panting after he fills her with his heat.

They spend the crux of the evening pressed close, forgoing food and beverage and even their responsibilities to the creatures for this final night of stolen bliss.

* * *

She leaves in pearly pre-dawn light on the fourteenth day, quietly and without fanfare, and takes his heart with her.

* * *

Thanks as always to Kemara for beta-reading, advice, encouragement, and general hand-holding. Keep an eye out for the sequel to this story, titled "Disassociative" which will be posted either September 5th or 12th, depending on if I'm feeling better by then...


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